We want to send a big shout out and many kisses to Girl on the Net for posting a sexy sample of our newly available audio book of “Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume I: Nymphomania and the Single Girl.” The original hard copy is quite expensive, but worth it. The ebook is very affordable. But this audio book is a totally new immersive experience, thanks to the fabulous talent of Ms. Jupiter Grant of Jupiter’s Lair, the narrator!
Go give it a free listen today and, if you love it, which you will, order your own copy.
That’s right, for only one Audible.com credit or $13.96 in America or £18.29 in the U.K., you can get all six hours and 18 minutes of steamy listening.
Lola, Jupiter, and I are all very excited about this new project and we think you are going to love it!
When we published our first book together, Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume I: Nymphomania and the Single Girl, it was quite literally a novel experience. We had never done anything like that before and we both delighted in the editorial process – rereading the stories, selectively choosing sexy photos to accompany the tales, deciding on the font size and type. The entire experience was a sensual exploration on so many levels.
After Marxism, “materialism” became a bad word. But now that the world has gone digital, I find that I indulge in the material universe: Books made of paper with pages that you can turn with your thumb and index finger; Magazines that are glossy and clearly have had thought put into the layout design; Oil paintings and marble statues. All these mediums of reproduction that are tangible delight me, perhaps because, in the age of the internet, they are becoming endangered. There is the possibility of pixels putting print out of business.
Lola Down in digital and print media
However, during that maiden voyage into publishing, there was something we did not consider nor realize until the long and arduous work was over: price. After compiling twenty-nine chapters and an introduction, organizing the 221 pages and including numerous full-color, glossy photos, when we finally hit the “publish” button, the entire project weighed in at a whopping $74.95! That was far more expensive than we ever contemplated.
Oh well, there was no going back now. We figured we’d put it out there and maybe it wouldn’t sell like other pulp, but it would become a collector’s item.
Someone Enjoys the Glossy Photos of Lola Down
Luckily for our readers, but completely defeating my materialistic motivation, the entire book could be digitalized and easily downloaded as an e-book at the very affordable price of $1.99. To date, this has been our top seller, with thousands of copies being read on devices around the world. Unfortunately, at the time the technology was not available to include all the spicy photography that accompanied the hard-copy text. But at least our dedicated fans were able to get this collection of stories all in one place.
Enjoying the digital image of Lola Down while on a date with his gf.
But now, we are very pleased to announce that a different form of material immersion is possible for Match, Cinder & Spark. Thanks to the magic of technology and the talent, dedication, endurance, and sonorous sexiness of Ms. Jupiter Grant, the entire first volume is soon to be released as an audiobook. That’s right, all 6.1 hours of steamy stories will be yours to hear. Though the immersion into the senses that is provided by the hard-copy is, in my humble opinion, a wonderful medium through which to experience Lola in all her glory, I have to say, after listening and re-listening to Jupiter Grant’s marvelous performance of the spoken word, I feel as I have suddenly discovered new and relatively unexplored dimensions of sound and sex.
I hope you will give it a listen. (Stay tuned for the release!)
The Sexy Jupiter Grant!
Here’s what people are saying about the e-book:
Reviews of Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume I: Nymphomania and the Single Girl
About the book: The story of Lola Down, your average nymphomaniac next door. This roman-a-clef tells the story of how she and the author, H.H., survive the trials and tribulations of life with her libido.
Rodin: Lola looks at this absorbing topic with such sexy passion. A great read. 5 stars!
Kathy K: HOT! HOT! HOT!
Calling all Nymphomaniacs
All wannabe Nymphomaniacs
All fantasy Nymphomaniacs
Any type of Nymphomaniacs.
This is THE book for you.
An extremely explicit detailed account of Lo’s sexcapades told in blog post form from her beginning preteen sexual awakening through the years to her current Nympho state.
Erotically told by the author, her lover, her Daddy.
Sexual experiences you couldn’t even imagine told, in truthful, frank detail.
A must read!
And the perhaps biased review from Ms. Jupiter Grant herself:
Intelligent and thoughtful erotica.
I have had the recent pleasure of reading Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume I for the upcoming audiobook version, and I can honestly say that it has been a very sexy, delightful read. H.H. tells us about his beautiful muse, Lola, and her insatiable desire for sex and pleasure. As well as recounting plenty of hot scenes, the book discusses nymphomania, stigma, non-monogamy, sexual exploitation, and numerous other issues.
If you want your brain to be enticed as well as your body, grab a copy of Match, Cinder & Spark.
As I have mentioned in the past, we receive a lot of fan mail. Most of it is for Lo, of course, but, on occasion, I receive a kind epistle from an adoring fan. Sometimes, the cursory reader gets confused. Like the time a guy wrote to Lo saying, “You’re an incredible writer.”
She wrote back, “No, no. Not me. My man, HH. He does the writing, I do the fucking.”
Lo and HH – much younger.
Recently, one fan of my writing wrote in asking if Lo ever gets enough pleasure and, “Do you ever get tired of writing about sex or is it always fresh for you?”
Lo was sitting on the couch reading the email, her bare legs spread as one hand held her phone and the other pleasured herself (she never gets enough pleasure – there’s the answer to your first questions), when she looked up at me, sitting at the other end of the couch, to read to me the fan’s email.
I pondered for a moment, we discussed it a bit, and she responded, “We have these amazing adventures that we just want to share with other people. I guess it’s like a travel blog, but for sex. We like to take you on our journeys with us.”
“How about we make it more like a food blog?” I asked Lo. “I eat you out and then I can write about the four-course meal later.”
“Four courses?”
“Yeah: pussy, ass, mouth, and then you lick my popsicle for dessert.”
“As much fun as that sounds, slide over here and look at this,” she said.
She spread her legs wider and I sat between them. One of her legs was up on my lap and the other behind my back. “I like this,” I said, looking at her delectable body.
“You might like this even more because it appeals to your insatiable ego.”
“Oh yeah? Well, you have my attention now!”
“I didn’t before?”
“Before you had my erection.”
“Let me see,” she demanded.
“No. First you show me whatever it is that’s going to aggrandize my ego.”
“I said ‘appeal to your ego.’ It’s impossible aggrandize. I don’t think it could get any bigger.”
“Are we still talking about my ego?”
“Take a look at this,” she said, turning her phone so I could see the photo.
“Littlegem,” she said, referring to one of our blogging community friends across the pond.
“Really?”
“You like?”
“Yes,” I said emphatically. It’s one thing to be told that my writing turns people on, but to see it happening is quite thrilling.
“And that’s not all,” said Lo, swiping the photo to reveal another. The second photo was in black-and-white.
“Wow!”
“OK,” said Lo, “I was wrong. Apparently there was room for your ego to grow.”
“Something’s growing alright.”
“Then I shouldn’t tell you what else Littlegem said.”
“Tell, tell!”
“Well. . . she said she wants to do a recording of her reading your writing while having her clit teased.”
“Like Stoya did for ‘Hysterical Literature’?”
Stoya Reading MySexLifeWithLola
“Don’t mention her.”
“Oh, right. Still, that’s amazing!”
“I think it would be great because I got an email from another fan who is blind.”
“Blind?!”
“Yes, blind.”
“How the hell did he find our blog?”
“Apparently, he has someone read the stories for him.”
“Oh my God! That is one of the hottest things I’ve ever heard!!!”
“Yeah,” said Lo, “and it got me thinking. We should totally do an audio book since I’m sure there are lots of long-distance haulers who would like to have me as their companion across the lonely stretches of highway.”
“I’m sure they would.”
“And people who want to hear about my sexcapades on their way to work.”
“The morning drive will never be the same.”
“And insomniacs who could use a good bedtime story.”
“Nothing like a good wank at the end of a long day to induce sleep.”
“So you see, it’s really necessary for everyone’s well-being that we do this.”
“Indubitably. And are you going to be the one to record the stories?”
“Oh no!” said Lo. “I’m no actor. All my orgasms are real.”
“Of course. Then who?”
“I’ll put out a call for open auditions.”
[Note to reader, if you haven’t checked out PurplesGem yet, you really should. They’re a great BDSM/kink couple. Great writing and photos. Below are some of our favorite photos from them, with permission, of course.]
[p.s. – If YOU want to audition for our audiobook, then go to ACX.com and look for “Match, Cinder & Spark.” If you can’t find it, email us: downloladown@gmail.com]
Recently it was the 200th anniversary of Herman Melville’s birth and just about every report of the event included the phrase, “died in near obscurity.” This phrase, “near obscurity” has been bouncing around in my head. What is meant by “near” exactly? I understand obscurity. By far, the vast majority of authors die in obscurity, that is why, other than those whom I have personally known, I cannot name any of them. But what constitutes near obscurity for an author? Nietzsche, too, died in near obscurity. One might even say that Thoreau died in almost complete obscurity. Same with Zora Neale Hurston, Emily Dickinson, and Sylvia Plath. For each of these luminaries of literature, at the time of their deaths, either the light of their past glory had faded or, like Kafka, they never had any fame during their brief tenures above ground but, due to unforeseen assistance from the universe, their stars began to rise only after their mortal flames had expired.
Like you, I have frequently seen the bumper sticker advice of: Dance like no one is watching. Recently, though, I came across someone whose blog bio read: Write like no one is reading. (Unfortunately, that author’s name has escaped me, and so she must remain, to me at least, obscure.) That quip really stuck with me, just like the phrase “near obscurity.” These two adages knocked around in my brain like billiard balls.
Writing as if no one is reading is a liberating thought. It is permission. It is license. It is dangerous and risky. And so, perhaps, living, writing, and even dying “in near obscurity” isn’t so bad after all.
(It’s also important to recall that “obscurity” has a second meaning as well: unclear, difficult to understand, complex. Maybe that characterization doesn’t apply so much to this blog, but much of my writing would be aptly described as “almost totally obscure” in both senses of the word.)
When I look at our blog stats and I see that there are over one million views and over a thousand comments on the blog, not to mention all the other eyeballs watching Lola and me in our most intimate prose in other platforms around the blogosphere, and leaving out all the books we have sold over the years, I suddenly realize that there certainly are readers of what I’m writing. Yet, when you compare the numbers, it is easy to feel as if no one is reading. Various sources state that in there are approximately 500 million blogs in existence as I write this. That means that even if we round up all the various platforms upon which we appear to five million views, then that doesn’t even comprise 1% of just the writers out there, let alone the readers! Yes, multiple blogs may be owned by one person and writers are also readers, but you get my mathematical point, right? – Though people are reading the blog, it is “nearly obscure,” given the vastness of the virtual universe.
But the injunction to write like no one is reading is not saying that I shouldn’t have any audience at all. It’s saying to write as if the audience didn’t exist, just as I might dance as if all of you beautiful people on the dance floor with me weren’t judging my awkward movements. If the music so moves me and it gives me joy to dance, however I might express that joy, then, by all means, I dance as if no is watching. Same with writing.
Yet you million or so people out there, and especially you lovely likeminded literary leches out there who write to us – you do read us and thereby keep us from the cold uninhabited reaches of the blogosphere where we would be in complete obscurity. For that we thank you.
Friday and finally all my meetings were over. I flew home that night. I hadn’t heard from Lo since the previous night when she enigmatically told me that she had dinner with Robert. I was eager to see her. I was hard-up and aching for release. On top of that, there was the tantalizing mystery of what happened on her “date” with Robert. Just to make matters worse, fate so ordained it that on my flight home I was seated next to a young, attractive college girl wearing a tight fitting miniskirt and a low cut blouse. Her breasts were full and, when placing her carryon in the storage compartment above, she stretched and revealed a delectable midriff and even some under-boob. When we sat down, she saw that I was reading Fast Girl, the book by Suzy Favor Hamilton about her life as a high-end Vegas escort and her sex addiction.
Suzy Favor Hamilton
“What
is that?” she asked, naively, but with a hint of being in-the-know.
“It’s
a memoir,” I said tersely. Her interest
made me nervous. Her looks made me more
nervous. Her age made me simply
petrified – in every sense of the term.
“I
think I’ve heard of it. It’s about. . .”
her brow wrinkled with the struggle of recall.
“A
woman who leads a double-life as a devoted wife and mom and as a prostitute.”
“Oh,”
she said, shocked at my candor. She
quickly followed it up with a smile and, “Do you like it?”
Suzy Favor Hamilton
There
was a mischievousness to her question that indicated to me that she wanted to
know what turns me on.
“It’s
my homework,” I said, as if that negated any pleasure I may derive from it.
“Homework?”
she asked. “What class are you in?” She wanted to enroll.
“My
girlfriend assigned it to me. She said
it would help me understand her better. The last assignment was Getting Off, about a woman addicted to
self-pleasure through humiliation porn.”
“Girlfriend?”
she asked. “Aren’t you married?” she
inquired while indicating my wedding band.
Clearly she was interested in more than my reading material.
“Oh
that,” I said, “I wear it to keep the ladies away.” My standard line.
“Yeah
right,” she said. “Every guy knows that
nothing attracts single women like a man who’s spoken for.”
“You
got me there,” I said. She was
attracted. This would be a l-o-n-g
flight.
“I
wish,” she said under her breath. “So,
your girlfriend – or whatever – is addicted to porn?”
“I
don’t know that she’s addicted to porn.
She likes porn. But she
definitely is addicted to pleasure.”
“I
know the feeling,” she said.
“Is
that so?”
“Would
you like to know the feeling?”
“Look,”
I said, “what’s your name?”
“Kayla,”
she said. Of course her name was Kayla.
“Look
Kayla, I’m already involved with a nymphomaniac. It takes every ounce of my energy, focus,
concentration, devotion, love, and chi to satisfy her. . . and still I come up
short. I appreciate your interest. I really do, but I’m on my way back home to
see her, and, well, to be honest, the beautiful batting of your eyelashes is
very well and good, but I’ve got a perfect slut waiting for me at home.”
If
this attractive, flirty, young woman had been sitting next to me on the departure
flight, when I was more mad at Lo than missing her, things may have been
different. Even then, the fact is, no
matter how angry I am with her, I still love Lo. And I know, no matter how attractive other
women may be, the witty repartee that Lo and I have is inimitable.
I tried to make my
position clear. She accepted the
boundaries I had set. But she switched
gears and now asked me all about Lo. I
gladly told her. It was probably my best
in-flight conversation. By the time we
landed, despite our fight or because of it, I wanted Lo more than ever. (I gave Kayla the blog address, just so she could
see for herself how it’s done.)
I
got home and as soon as I walked in the door I knew I was in for trouble. Lo wasn’t talking to me except monosyllabic
words. “Hi.”
“How
are you?” I asked.
“Fine.”
You
get the gist. But she was dressed in a
pink sleeveless t-shirt and her black lace panties. That’s it.
She pranced around with her hard nipples poking through the front of her
shirt, her side-boobs bouncing and peeking out from the open underarms. She.
Looked. Good.
Surf’s Up
I
was hard.
I
wanted her.
I
needed her.
I
had no idea how to approach her.
So
I took the direct approach: “You wanna fuck?”
“Your
seduction technique is so subtle, yet captivating,” she said.
I
knew I was making good progress because captivating is four syllables.
“Yeah,”
I said, nonchalantly.
“Then
why are you still wearing your clothes?”
I
stripped and she pulled down her panties.
Her
pussy was smooth, shaven, pink and beautiful.
“What’s
the occasion?” I asked.
“This?”
she asked, stroking her lovely mons pubis.
“Yeah,”
I said, “that.” For a moment I was under
the impression that she was anticipating my return and that she had shaved for
me. She disabused me of that notion
right away.
“I
told you,” she said, “I was seeing Robert last night.”
We
were in the bed now. I was looking down
at her lovely body. “You did that for
Robert?”
“Semper
fi,” she said.
“Semper fi?” I asked,
perplexed.
“Yeah,”
she said, “Always prepared; the motto of the marines.”
“Semper
fi means ‘always faithful.’”
“Oh,”
she said. “Whoops!”
“You
can say that again. So, were you
faithful?”
“Fuck
me and I’ll tell you.”
I
was arched over her and I enjoyed looking at her beautiful body as her hand
guided my protruding member up and down her wet labia. “Come on, Daddy,” she said, “fuck me. You know you need it. Take it.”
I
penetrated her. From the feel of things,
she needed me as much as I needed her.
Once
I had fully engorged her, I asked, “So, what happened last night?”
She
was too busy enjoying my rod. She came
within seconds.
I
waited for her to catch her breath.
“Tell me,” I commanded.
“I
met him at his house,” she said in her breathy voice.
“What
were you wearing?”
“A
short skirt. My leather boots. A tight top.”
“Go
on.”
“I
met him there. He kissed me hello.”
“On
the lips?”
“Yes.”
“Mighty
forward of him.”
“I
made sure it was on the lips.”
“Oh.”
“We
talked a little and then he drove us to the restaurant. I think he liked being seen in there with
me. It looked like a first or second
date, I’m sure.”
“What
did you talk about?”
“Him,
mostly. His needs. His wants.
His desires.”
“Oh,
so you talked about you.”
“You
could say that.”
She
came again. Nothing excites her as much
as she.
“And
then?”
“We
went back to his place. He invited me
in. He offered me a drink. We sat on the couch. Before I finished my first drink, we were
making out. His hands were under my top,
feeling my breasts, pulling my nipples.”
Too
much! I came.
As
I pulled out of her and rolled on my back, she said, “Well, I guess you’ll have
to wait to hear how the night ended.”
“Uh-uh,”
I said, “You’re going to finish this slut-saga tonight.
“Only
if you’ll fuck me again.”
“Start
talking. You know what your words do to
me.”
She
moved closer to me and her index finger twirled around my flaccid cock as she
spoke:
His fingers were running up and down
my clit over my panties. Within a couple
of strokes, my panties were soaked. He
could feel it.
‘Why
have you held out on me all this time?’ I asked Robert as he was feverishly
trying to slide my panties over my boots.
He got them off and he was trying to
remove my skirt, but it has a zipper in the back. I kissed him and slowly stood up, turned
around, and let him unzip it. The skirt
fell to the floor and he felt my bare ass with his hands and then he began
kissing it.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he said. ‘Even more beautiful than in your photos.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, turning around
to face him. He saw my silky smooth
pussy. He kissed it. I came.
I came hard just from the light touch of his lips on my soft
triangle. I had to grab his shoulders to
steady myself. I pulled his head in to
my tum and he kissed me as he slowly removed my shirt. He sucked on my tits as I stood totally naked
before him.
‘Here I am, bare as the day I was
born,’ I said, ‘and you have all your clothes on.’
I began unbuttoning his dress
shirt. I got him out of it and out of
his t-shirt. I then got him to stand as
I got on my knees and I undid his belt, his pants button, his fly, and slowly
pulled down his trousers. I could see
his enormously long cock in his boxers.
I wanted it. I pulled down his
boxers and there it was, just as I remembered it. It was beautiful, but it was as soft as you
are right now.
I
was soft, but getting harder. “He did
tell us that he has a performance problem,” I said.
“Yeah,
I know,” she said. “I sucked on it and
gave it my best blowjob, but damn it all, I couldn’t get it hard.”
“Really?!” That was a first.
“Yeah,”
she said.
“Please
demonstrate,” I asked. “Perhaps there is
a problem with your technique.”
That
really pissed her off. Never insult Lo’s
skills in the bedroom, or any other room.
She
put her mouth on my cock and said, “I have impeccable technique.” That she did.
She worked on my slack slinky and it slowly regained some rigidity.
As
she lifted her soft lips off my stuff, she said, “He didn’t respond to my
loving labia, so I got under him and opened wide, taking his huge balls in my
mouth. That he liked. It got an immediate reaction.”
“You
are fond of instantaneous reviews.”
“He
then guided me to the bedroom where. . .”
“No,
wait,” I interrupted, “let me get in you now.”
I was hard-up and wanted to hear the end of her story from a position
that would allow me to gage her level of excitement. I slid my arousal-meter inside her and she
continued.
“We got into bed
and, well, he was still having difficulty performing. I asked him, ‘Do you want to look at some
porn together?’”
“You wanted it
bad, didn’t you?” I asked.
“I’m always up for
porn,” she said, nonchalantly. “And he
was too. He pulled up the blog.”
“Our blog?!”
“Yes. What other blog?”
“OK.”
“And we scrolled
through some pics together. He settled
on one of you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. And he got hard.”
“You’re kidding
me.”
“No I’m not. I asked him, ‘You like his cock?’ and he
said, ‘Yes.’”
“You wouldn’t put
me on like that, would you?”
“I swear,” she
said, sincerely. “I asked him more about
it and he told me that he thinks his problem might be that he’s gay. He said he likes being with women, but he gets turned on by looking at guys.”
“So what did you
do?”
“We looked at some
more porn together, mostly gay porn, cuck porn, and swinger porn. He eventually turned me over, doggy-style,
put his laptop on my back, and fucked me from behind.”
“He used you like
a coffee table?!”
“Well, if someone
invented a cross between a coffee table and a fuck doll, then, yes.”
“Good idea.”
“And then he asked
me if he could go in my ass.”
“The audacity of
that man!”
“And I said yes.”
“You little slut.”
“Yes, Daddy. Say it again.
You’re turning me on.”
“You skank. You trollop.”
“He went in my ass
and then he asked, very politely, if he could cum in me.”
“You anal
whore. I bet you wanted him to.”
“Well, I had cum
so many times by that point, it only seemed fair.”
After she said
that, I came, not in her ass, but deep in her, for the second time.
“I’m glad you were
able to be so charitable while I was away,” I said. I have to admit, I felt a twinge of jealously
and, for a moment, I regretted not taking advantage of my opportunity on the
plane.
“Why didn’t you
sleep over?” I asked her.
“It had been a
long time since I had anal sex,” she began to say.
“Don’t I know it,”
I added.
“And so I wanted
to go home to clean up. I’m sorry, but I
may have made a bit of a mess on your car seat.”
Just found out that the good people at tenben.com reviewed Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume II: MORE!
They said, “Lo is the sort of woman that always gets what she wants.”
“What will probably sell this book from a particular standpoint is that it is chock FULL of photos of the pair serving as story illustrations. There’s a lot of care being put into this.”
“Match, Cinder & Spark Volume II: More! by H.H. is an earnest expression of a couple’s sexual energy…and that energy contains the white hot passion of one thousand suns. Each individual story along with its accompanying pictures is equal parts fun and sexy, but to attempt to mentally splice the smut with the real life antics of this power couple would be a fool’s errand. If you and/or your partner have a wild sexual side you’d like to explore on paper, to explore your wildest fantasies in the comfort of your own bedroom, you’d be doing yourself a favor by starting with this dynamic duo.”
Finally a moment to relax. Some time to myself. A quiet interval to read for enjoyment before sweet sleep. I was deep into the Bukowski’s Notes of a Dirty Old Man, appropriately enough. As I tried to enjoy one of the short stories about a dissolute life, Lo lay next to me, naked, her legs spread, diddling her bean, clearly looking for attention. She spread her legs wider, putting her left leg up and over my legs. She inserted her finger and moaned. No response from me. She spread her legs even further until her left knee hit the cover of my book, knocking it out of my hands. She dipped all five fingers into her gaping pleasure patch.
Lo’s Bed Spread
“Hey,” I said, “watch it!”
“Clearly you’re not interested in watching,” she retorted.
“Is there something I can do for you?”
“Probably not,” she replied, cursorily, as she continued to fap with her five fingers.
“Then may I read in peace?”
“Why do you want to read now?” she asked.
“Well,” I said with some snark, “right now, I feel like it gives me a leg up, if you know what I mean.”
She raised her leg even further, across my chest.
“Watch out, dear,” I said, “you’re spreading yourself a bit thin there.”
“Thin?! Thin?! I’m a proudly thick woman,” she said.
“Look,” I said, “if you want me, then just use your words and ask for me to fuck you.”
“I shouldn’t need my words,” she said as she pulled out her fingers from her puss, “I’m using sign language.”
“And I’m using my ability to read lips.”
“See, we don’t even need words,” she said, “we can communicate perfectly well with body language.”
I got on my knees, pulled down my boxers, pulled out my hard cock and asked, “What does this body language express to you?”
Reading Notes of a Dirty Old Man
“Everything I want to know,” she said, “now dip your pen in my wet well and write your poetry all over me, you dirty old man.”
July 1st is the release date for Volume IV of “Match, Cinder & Spark.” It’s called “Sexy Shorts” and it contains 40 quick, sexy, funny stories about Lola Down and her sexcapades. It also has 30 stunning images by top artists and graphic designers, including a great cover by Ismolius!
If you reblog this post on your blog, I’ll send you a free copy. Just send me the link: downloladown@gmail.com or comment below with the link.
“Lo,
what ya doin’?” I asked as I came in the house and found her on the couch,
naked, scrolling through her phone. This
wouldn’t be unusual, of course, except for the fact that she was not
masturbating at the time. Just getting
ready? Just finished? I wasn’t sure.
Lo on her Phone
“I
tallied it up and I have over 20,000 followers on our various platforms,” she
said without bothering to look up at me.
“Really? 20,000?
That’s a lot of horny men,” I said.
“And
women,” she added. “And don’t forget your
fans.”
Jen X
Madelaine
Piper
She was kind to include my fans, even if she said it with a bit of scorn. Lately, I’ve had quite a resurgence of interest. A number of women have been writing to me telling me how much they enjoy my stories. There has been Madelaine, Jen, Piper, Dawn, TJ, Tracy, and Liz. Of course these are not exclusive categories. Most of the fans of my writing are also fans of Lo. But in Lo’s mind, she refers to them as “your fans.” Flattering me? Or jealousy?
In
any case, I digress.
“I
think that makes you a micro-influencer,” I said.
“What
do you mean ‘micro’?”
“I’m
just using the terminology that. . .”
“Let
me see your cock,” she said, interrupting.
H.H.
I
walked in front of her on the couch and undid my pants and grabbed my member
from my underwear, pulling it out. “Nothing
micro there,” she said.
“I
just meant that you have reached that echelon.”
“But
we don’t sell anything,” she objected.
“I’ve
received a lot of offers from companies to write posts just for them, or
include their products embedded in our stories.”
“Really?” She was curious. “What sort of companies.”
“Sex
toy companies, mostly.”
“Would
they pay us for it?”
“Well,
they said that they would send us free dildos and vibes and stuff.”
“You
can’t pay the rent with sex toys.”
Rent?
“If
we only could,” I mused.
“It’s
fine,” she said, “I like our independence.
I prefer to be a social media sinfluencer.”
